


Cloak and Collar

by Racethewind_10



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon What Canon, F/F, FTL only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2341772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Racethewind_10/pseuds/Racethewind_10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whether in fear or just desperate hope, the voice she'd so long thought of as her own weakness had brought her to a place where she learned what it was to be safe, to be whole.</p><p>Where she learned that prisons could set you free and ‘tamed’ did not mean ‘broken.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Character study of a potential relationship between Red/Regina as the Evil Queen with D/s undertones that diverges wildly from canon. 
> 
> Sexual content is fairly mild and all consensual (with the exception of some care-taking scenes). One semi-graphic violence scene.

You can blame [this gorgeous tumblr](http://racethewind10.tumblr.com/post/97536019366) gifset and also tumblr user [elsodex](http://elsodex.tumblr.com/) for this bit of smutty fluffy nonsense 

* * *

 

 

When she looks back, she will acknowledge there was a part of her that _wanted_ to be caught. It was the part that let go of the sobs clawing their way up her throat every time she woke up naked and shaking, her human skin torn and bruised and the taste of blood in her mouth; the part that feared each moonrise and kept her awake at night as if the Wolf was merely a bad dream she could banish by forcing her eyes open until they burned.

She blamed that single, tiny, weak voice inside her for the direction she ran that day, blamed it for the fleeting surge of relief that swept through her blood like a tide as the red cloak settled over her, forcing her bones to shift, her body to change, forcing the wolf to cower and hide inside the human once more.

It wasn’t until later, it wasn’t until after the collar and the magic and the control, it wasn’t until after she learned to look at her eyes yellow and glowing in the mirror and smile, after she came to crave the soft heat of another’s mouth and the safe hold of the restraints, after she accepted that ‘the girl’ and ‘the Wolf’ were only ever always both her; it wasn’t until she knew the feeling of howling at the full moon while gentle fingers scratched behind her ears that she could give thanks for that part of herself. For whether it had been in fear or just desperate hope, the voice she had so long thought of as her own weakness had brought her to a place where she learned what it was to be safe, to be whole.

Where she learned that prisons could set you free and ‘tamed’ did not mean ‘broken.’

 

* * *

 

It starts with a name. Well, in truth it starts with a cloak, but the cloak is just the first few drops of rain after a too- long summer. The cloak is relief, freeing her from the call of the monster inside her, allowing her to walk without fear of hurting another. The cloak is the answer to why she ran in the first place. It is why, when she dreamed of the taste of her best friend’s blood in her mouth and the sound of Snow’s screams as long teeth tore into her flesh, she woke and ran and ran and ran until the moon rose and two legs became four and the forest exploded into her mind with a cacophony of scent and sound.

At first of course the cloak is a trap, a way for the woman they call the Evil Queen to disarm her, to take away her ability to fight back. As a human she has only the strength of her arms and legs and dull teeth that don’t carry the threat of tearing a guard’s throat out very well.

After the cloak come the iron bars, clanging shut with heavy finality. After the prison of metal she expects pain. She expects the Queen to kill her or torture her for Snow’s whereabouts and even then, panting harshly, naked and cold and fully human on the floor of Regina’s dungeons, some part of her welcomes it. 

Some part of her wants it all to just end.

She remembers looking up at her captor, at the black leather and jewels and the intoxicating scent she didn’t need a wolf’s nose to make heady and addictive and just thinking ‘ _let it be quick_.’  She remembers eyes as dark as obsidian and a cruel crimson smile. She remembers the most feared witch in all the realm folding her body down to where Red lay - collapsed and curled and unable to go any farther - and fingers lifting her chin in a grip as strong as the iron bars around them.

She remembers wanting to laugh with bitter relief that finally, _finally_ she might be free of the battleground of her own nature.

But the pain she was expecting never came.

Instead the harsh edges of that cold smile melted, faded, softened. Those dark, dark eyes warmed. The fingers at her chin eased their steely hold and a gentle thumb swept across her cheek, brushing away a tear she didn’t remember shedding. Something like recognition flickered across the Queen’s face and for a long moment she was still, her beautiful features a mask while the silence stretched and the guards looked at each other in confusion.

When at long last she spoke, the Queen’s voice was low and warm and something that might have been gentle in another time and place. She spoke and her words were the last Red ever expected to hear.  

“I can teach you control. I can give you mastery over the change. If you wish.”  

And Red had looked at the Queen in all her dark glory, looked at the sworn enemy of Snow White and the threat to the whole kingdom and saw salvation and damnation in equal measure in those dark, dark eyes.  She felt her trembling limbs and how even now, with the cloak’s magic quelling the Wolf, it clawed at her, moving under her skin restless and angry as it sought to escape. It was always only a matter of time before it escaped.

“Yes,” she sobbed and then oblivion reached up and pulled her down into the arms of sleep.

 

* * *

 

If the cloak is rain, the name is a tide. It’s ocean waves crashing against the bulwark of her past, wearing down her defenses. She has been many things to many people in her life: daughter, granddaughter, friend, beloved, warrior, murderer… _monster_. She measures the weight of the labels she wears in the way others look at her. Those who know her, or are loyal to Snow see her as ‘the girl,’ the victim of a terrible curse and something to be pitied. Their eyes slide away quickly,  smiles tight and brittle on their faces.

Those who call her ‘monster’ let their eyes linger, their lips pulling in disgust or anger as they sneer at her.

But both labels fit just as ill, twisted and wrong like clothes that belong to another.

Both names are just as heavy and hard to bear.

Regina calls her Red.  Eventually she will call her “My beautiful, beautiful Red” but in the beginning she just says “Red” and the way her full lips shape the ‘R’ makes Red crave the sound of her name in a way she never has before. The way dark eyes burn as they look at the her - the woman who has been so many things in her life but has never only ever been herself, who doesn’t even know what ‘ _herself_ ’ would look like - makes her seek out Regina’s gaze more with each passing day.  Regina’s gaze that is steady and sure and doesn’t flinch and doesn’t slide away, but it doesn’t feel like a trap either. The irony is not lost on Red. She is surrounded by tons of stone and iron bars, a prisoner in all but name but in Regina’s eyes she feels – if only for a moment – free. Regina calls her Red and it’s just her name. Regina calls her Red and the weight sits easily on her shoulders like the cloak she still wears, warm and comforting.  

Regina calls her Red and the other names start to fade, slowly, slowly, like wounds healing on her skin.

 

* * *

 

 

The collar is a lie, though she doesn’t understand for a long time.

The blackness of that first night is pushed aside for a moment when she feels someone touching her, instinctive fear fighting weariness leaving her senses muddled and understanding slow to dawn. It is only distantly that she understands the Queen is touching her.  Regina’s hands are gentle and her skin so warm it seems to burn and Red whimpers, shifting, twisting her body against unfamiliar softness that she only barely registers as clean bedding before there is a touch at her forehead and “shhhh” and the darkness comes for her once more.

She wakes in a massive, lavishly appointed guest room in the Evil Queen’s castle, rested and clean, naked but for a collar around her throat that a glance in a gold-trimmed mirror shows is butter soft leather of deepest crimson, the very color of Regina’s lips last night. She wakes alone and finds clothing set out for her – simple skirt and vest top as well as breeches and a shirt, the choice for her to make apparently – and her cloak hung over a chair. She wakes to the realization that she has nowhere to run, that she is caught in a gilded cage more secure than any she could have begged Snow to construct to keep her contained. She wakes and feels relief and goes to face her fate.

 

* * *

 

 

Regina keeps her promise.

“The collar is infused with my magic,” the Queen speaks – for even now Red sees that there is a difference between Regina and the Queen though they are one and the same like the girl and the wolf. A single finger traces the leather around her neck and heat like afternoon sunshine pours through her veins, making her gasp and shudder and not in fear.  “It will help you control the change until you can master the Wolf whenever you want,” the Queen smiles at her reaction. “Now, let us begin.”

Regina keeps her promise and trains her ruthlessly.  Night after night Red wakes in what she comes to think of as ‘her’ bed, limbs loose and leaden with exhaustion, naked but for the collar, having no memory past collapsing onto the stone floor of Regina’s study or Regina’s workroom after trying to force the change one more time, or hold it off under the press of Regina’s magic.

It should bother her, she knows, that she wakes like this, that Regina strips her clothes away and (apparently) bathes her but somehow it doesn’t.

Somehow it is simply comforting to know she is being taken care of.

Somehow it makes her feel as though this was the _right_ choice and not the _only_ one.

 

* * *

 

Weeks pass and she grows stronger.

The moon waxes and wanes and the taste of blood becomes a memory and still her control grows.  Sometimes she even wakes as Regina’s magic eases her into a huge tub, the water nearly too hot on her skin but blissful on her aching muscles. Red begins to struggle to stay conscious for those moments when she is cradled by Regina’s power, when Regina’s fingers smooth over her body, gentle and thorough but undemanding.  No one has ever taken care of her this way, so close and careful, but without fear or intent.

The feeling confuses her, even as she realizes she craves it, like the sound of her name and the flash of approval in obsidian eyes.

At first she pretends slumber on so as not to disturb whatever fragile peace exists between them in those moments, so as not to make Regina leave her alone. But one night there is a soft brush of lips against her brow and a throaty chuckle in her ear.  “Open your eyes,” and because Red can no longer imagine disobeying a command, especially not one so tender, she does.  She opens her eyes and sees Regina smiling softly at her where she sits on the lip of marble tub in all her dark glory,  leather and velvet and silk and midnight hair coiled and twisted as immaculately as ever.  Only the merest flush to her cheeks hints that the Queen feels anything at all beyond duty to her charge.

“Do you wish me to leave?” Regina asks and her voice is steady and cool but that stain of color on her cheeks…

Red holds her gaze and replies that no, she doesn’t want Regina to leave.

When a smile, gentle and full, blooms on crimson lips, Red knows she answered well. She falls back asleep to the feeling of Regina’s fingers stroking her scalp.

 

* * *

 

 

Four cycles of the moon pass and Regina grants her access to the forests on her lands and Red _runs_. Not to escape, for she knows there are boundaries and wards of magic she cannot cross at the edge of the Queen’s territory. It doesn’t matter.  She no longer needs to escape to be free.

A gibbous moon hangs low in a clear sky and stars are scattered like diamonds on the black velvet of Regina’s dresses as Red runs among tree trunks that tower up, up, up to support the vaulted ceiling of the forest. The forest that explodes in her senses again, a thousand smells and sounds filling her nose and her hears while her paws carry her over streams and logs and up hills. She howls for the sheer joy of it, leaps to the top of a rocky outcropping and changes back to her human form and yells again, laughing and dizzy with exhilaration and the chill of the night air pricking her skin as she celebrates the feeling of mastery over her _self_ for the first time in her entire life. The sound of her voice crashes against the rocks behind her and falls away toward the trees and somewhere far, far away in a valley below her a real wolf howls, its voice rising like a song in the clear night air.  It makes her heart leap in happiness and her feet itch to run again.

The collar against her throat is warm and heavy and she feels sunshine in her veins.

With a last shout of joy, she changes again and turns back to the castle.

 

* * *

 

 

With control comes ease, almost comfort, and Red learns to embrace the wolf as _part_ of her, and not as _other_.  As winter closes in and life outside the castle slows, she spends more and more time in her four legged form, coaxed subtly along by her teacher.  She learns to find simple pleasure in the feeling of Regina’s fingers in her fur, scratching idly or petting her distractedly while she reads in the evenings. The more she remains the wolf, the more she realizes her awareness is nearly that of a human now, that she is free to experience emotions other than fear and anger and hunger.

The possessive nature of the wolf, though, never leaves. If anything it becomes stronger and somewhere between the sixth and seventh cycles of the moon, Red realizes she thinks of Regina as “hers.”

She realizes she thinks of Regina as _hers_ just in time for Snow White to nearly destroy everything.

Good, kind, naïve, blind, stupid, _stupid_ Snow White who sends a spy to “rescue” Red, thinking her under Regina’s thrall.

It’s the collar that saves her, the collar that blocks the Fairy-spell the spy – a man she doesn’t recognize, has never seen or smelled before – throws at her; blocks it just enough that Red remains awake, remains in control. She's in control when she changes, in control when her muscles bunch and she leaps. She's in control when she rips the man’s throat out and snaps his spine with her jaws.

She is in control when she drags his body into Regina’s study and drops him at her Queen’s feet.

She is not in control when she changes back, shaking and kneeling on the thick rug in front of the fireplace, wholly human and terrified Regina will think she asked for this, that Regina will send her away…but the fingers on her chin are achingly gentle, the thumbs on her cheeks that brush aside the tears as soft as a feather. “My beautiful Red,” Regina whispers and gathers her close. She waves her hand and the body disappears, leaving only the taste of blood in Red’s mouth.

When Regina takes her to her own bed and holds her close that night, Red realizes she doesn’t mind the taste anymore.  

 

* * *

 

 

That night is a threshold that they cross and never look back.  Regina’s bed becomes Red’s as well. If she is human, she sleeps in only her collar, skin to skin and Regina’s arms around her, Regina’s breath on the back of her neck and her heartbeat against Red’s spine.  If she is wolf, she sleeps curled at Regina’s feet. When Regina thrashes, caught in the grip of the nightmares that so frequently haunt her, Red crawls carefully across the velvet covers and rests her head on Regina’s chest or licks her cheek until a hand comes to rest in her fur and Regina quiets, her body going lax and her breathing evening out.  Red knows Regina desires her, she can smell it even without her wolf nose, can feel it in the way Regina’s heart beats a little too quickly those mornings when Red sleeps with her as a woman. But she never touches her, never makes a move to seduce or coerce. She leaves the choice to Red.

A part of Red will always love Snow White, who was her friend and confidante, but Red has ears and eyes and knows the names that Regina calls in her sleep, begging them not to hurt her. Red knows what happens in arranged marriages and what makes little girls promise their mother over and over they will be good.   Red understands what drives the woman so many call Evil too deeply to ever think of her that way again.

Since that first night on the floor of her dungeons Regina has let her choose.

In the warm darkness of Regina’s chambers, with slender arms holding her close and the steady rhythm of a heart Red knows is not nearly as black as its enemies claim beating against her back, Red makes her choice.

 

* * *

 

 

The night Red realizes the collar is a lie is the first time she first touches Regina.

She strides into the study, only a dark red cloak (not _The_ cloak, just a cloak of thick velvet and satin Regina gifted her with months ago) covering her skin. The collar is in her hand, exposed for what it really is, but somehow even more comforting for the truth.

Regina wears velvet the color of blood in moonlight with no back and a plunging neckline and her hair is loose, tumbling over her shoulders and catching the firelight where she stands by the great marble hearth, a glass of whiskey in her hand. The amber liquid holds the flames inside it and Red can smell it on the air, oak and peat and the tang of alcohol.

The glass is placed on top of the hearth when Regina turns toward her, a smile on those full soft lips, a smile that freezes when Red drops her cloak and Regina catches sight of the collar in Red’s hand.

Red holds her gaze and it’s hard to be steady, hard to go through with the change because Regina suddenly looks brittle. She looks _fragile_ , all the color in her skin suddenly leached away and her eyes full of shadows that make Red ache to chase them away.

The change hurts like it hasn’t in months but Red doesn’t make a sound, just shifts and shifts back, two, three times while Regina watches her, frozen and utterly still until Red stands as a woman and picks the collar back up. She knows she’s made the right choice when she takes a step toward Regina and sees her _flinch_ and oh but her ribs want to cave in, her arms ache to reach out and touch, to hold and reassure, but she doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead Red steps close and then kneels, smooth and liquid in the way she knows makes Regina’s heart quicken and her throat dry.  Instead she holds the collar up and looks at those dark, dark eyes with the firelight reflected in them. Instead she softly says, “Yes,” and watches as Regina gasps, watches the color flood back into her face and her whole body shudder. 

Regina kneels slowly and carefully and her hands when they take the collar from Red tremble ever so slightly. Her skin is as warm as Red remembers though, hotter than the flames that dance and crackle behind them and so, so soft. It’s but the work of a moment and that familiar warm weight is once again around Red’s neck and her chest opens, her shoulders ease as Regina cups her face.

“My beautiful, beautiful Red.”

Those dark eyes shine with more than the firelight and when Red asks to touch her, Regina smiles and laughs and kisses her and says “Yes.”

 

* * *

 

 

There have been others before her, others who have knelt at their Queen’s feet and begged the pleasure of touching her. Red remembers a few of them, always men, back when she first came to the castle.  Even then their swagger and the way they held themselves made her want to growl, low and deep in her throat. But there have been none since the night of the would-be rescuer Snow sent. None since Regina pulled the blankets up and tucked them around Red’s neck before gathering her close and commanding her to sleep in a voice that promised safety and respite. Red remembers the look of those men, the rank note of fear she could smell below the arousal and arrogance. She knows they were ordered to their knees. She knows it angered them and that the Queen fed off that very anger.

Red isn’t angry. When she sinks to her knees in front of Regina it's out of desire untainted by fear.  She doesn’t need orders to ease with careful hands the laces and stockings away from warm skin. Doesn’t need the hand in her hair to tug or guide as she drops soft soft kisses on the inside of silky thighs.  Her senses, always more than human no matter how quiet the wolf is, fill with Regina. She memorizes the feel of lean muscle and strong tendons that shift and jump beneath her lips and fingertips. She laps up the breathy sounds that fall from parted lips as eagerly as cold water after a run and lets the thickcleansalt _want_ scent of desire fill her nose as she eases lengths of crimson velvet up around Regina’s hips and her Queen bares herself to Red’s gaze, to her touch and her mouth.

Those fingers that have held her, bathed her, commanded her, comforted, now her dig into her hair, gripping, but Red merely smiles as she tastes and touches, as her tongue and lips become wet wet warm with Regina’s need and her hands smooth along straining thighs keeping Regina open for her.

Red may be on her knees but Regina is the one who begs that night and Red smiles as Regina cries out, body tensing and bowing in pleasure, smiles as she rises to kiss Regina even as fingers trace the path her tongue just abandoned, smiles as Regina clings to her wrist and guides Red inside her, smiles as she feels slick raw silk and the ripples of release that roll through Regina, smiles as dark eyes look up at her beneath heavy lashes and lips stripped of their crimson color are still so very soft and so very full.

That night Red carries Regina to their bed and pulls her close, her heart beating against Regina’s spine and arms around her, holding her gently. She wakes to the weak morning sunlight falling through the great windows and dark eyes that glow like coals watching her. “On your back, my beautiful Red,” Regina whispers and kisses her and Red, shivering with need, obeys.

 

* * *

 

Regina tries to send her away, and Red understands that Regina loves her. Or at least, as much as Regina allows herself to love. 

Spring has the land well in its grip and Red has taken to running outside more often, letting the richgreenyoungalive smell of the forest waking from its slumber fill her senses. She chases birds for the fun of it and snarls at the bears as they lumber from their long sleep and howls to the other wolves in the valley.

And always she comes _home_. Because the castle is home now, where Regina’s scent and Regina magic permeating the very stones, where the guards and servants smile and bow or wave at her with easy familiarity and not fear, where a wag of her tail or a soft whine will get a grumble from the cook but tidbits from the scullery maids, where dark eyes warm and soft lips wait to claim her. Home.

She pads into Regina’s chambers, tongue lolling and ears up. Outside the sun has set though the distant hills are still edged in golds and oranges. Regina stands at the windows, face hidden. She looks still and small against the huge panes of glass and the fur on the back of Red’s neck rises, her tail dropping as fear steals through her. When she whines softly, Regina doesn’t face her.

For a long time there is only silence and Red hunches, afraid to move forward and unwilling to leave.

“You are free. If you wish it. The wards are lowered, you can go.”

The words are so soft that even the wolf barely hears. It’s the cracked and brittle tone and the way Regina’s shoulders curl inward as if in pain, the way she braces a hand on the cold glass as if afraid she might fall that makes Red ache to shift, to go to her and take Regina in her arms.  But not every lesson she has learned in her time here has concerned magic.

It takes the wolf’s strength and cunning to do what needs to be done, but she lets those instincts guide her when all that is _woman_ wants to run to Regina, to say all the right words and promise she won’t leave.

The wolf has a more direct approach.

With a disgusted snort, Red shakes her fur down, trots over to the bed and leaps up, very pointedly circling several times before plopping down directly on Regina’s pillow with a huff. Her chin settles on her forepaws and she waits and watches.  Watches as a shudder passes through Regina’s slender frame, as her hand flexes against the glass and drops to her side and slowly, slowly she turns around.

It _hurts_ , watching her fight the hope Red sees so clearly shining through the cracks in Regina’s armor but she does nothing. This is not her battle. She can only await the outcome.

She is already changing, already smiling when Regina straightens, when her chin comes up and her eyes burn with familiar flame.

“I don’t allow pets on my pillow,” Regina threatens, smoky voice low and hard and challenging. 

 Red smiles, wicked and delighted and filled with so much relief it spills out of her into laughter. “Then come punish me.”

And Regina does.

 

* * *

 

 

There is freedom in surrender.

When the sun is up, Red accompanies Regina as she rules her kingdom. The sight of the Queen’s black horses is no longer complete without the great wolf loping easily alongside Regina’s stirrup. Sometimes she sits on her haunches in the great throne room, head beneath Regina’s right hand and golden eyes gazing unblinking at those who would approach. Twice her nose has revealed assassins.   

When the sun goes down, Regina teaches her new meanings of control, and of pleasure.

One night there was a box waiting for her on the bed. Simple and wooden it held no clues to its contents. Red looked up to see Regina watching her from the windows, but a gentle smile was permission to open it. Inside were cuffs of leather as soft and strong and deep red as her collar. “They’re infused with my magic,” Regina said quietly, taking them from Red’s hands and fastening first one, then another around her wrists. “They can never break.”

They also won’t allow her to change, and when Regina fastens them to the bed, Red is free. No matter what she feels, no matter how _much_ she feels, no matter the way her limbs strain and her body arches she is held tight, held safe, can’t hurt another. Can’t hurt Regina.  Regina who whispers “mine” against her the curve of her ribs and the line of her jaw, whose touch is gentle and tender until it’s _not_ , who leaves bruises in the shape of her mouth on Red’s neck and breasts and who loves to tease far too carefully between Red’s legs with just the tips of her fingers. She’ll wait till Red begs and only then will she claim her with mouth or fingers or the carven shaft in its black leather harness until there is no wolf no girl no Red there is only pleasure and pain and her mind is as silent and clear as when she races through the woods howling at the moon.   Sometimes Regina will take her time, skin against skin and kissing caressing stroking. Sometimes she wears leather and velvet and khol around her eyes like armor and the black of the harness can barely be seen around her hips and she commands Red to watch, watch as the shaft moves inside her, filling her until Regina’s hips are flush with her own and Red can no longer keep her eyes open, can no longer draw a full breath, can no longer do anything but let go...

 

* * *

 

 

One year gives way to another, rumors of Snow White marshalling an army spread…and an evil imp comes to visit.  It isn’t the first time Rumplestiltskin has darkened the castle with his presence, but it’s the first time Red doesn’t stop the low growl that starts in her chest and rolls out between clenched teeth at the sight of him. It’s the first time she and Regina fight, the first time Regina’s ire is directed at her. The first time Red refuses to back down but snarls at the glittering man who reeks of foul magic and old blood and decay.  Regina banishes her from the study and Red changes and runs runs runs until the anger burns from her limbs and her throat just burns.

When she returns Regina is standing in front of the fireplace, her face unreadable. There is no trace of the imp but the shadows in the corner of the room seem darker.

“You smell like pain, whenever he’s here, he hurts you.” It wasn’t what she planned to say but once spoken she won’t take the words back.  “I don’t like you hurting,” Red whispers, and she has to look down, look away because her throat is tight and the separation between them too great.

Tender fingers lift her chin but Regina’s dark eyes are shuttered and barred like they haven’t been in _months_. She says nothing, just tilts her head to brush her lips across Red’s and then walks away, closing the door softly behind her. Red changes and the wolf curls up on their bed, soft keening noises instead of human cries filling the too-still air.

Regina is gone for three days. Three days where Red, and then eventually the guards, search high and low for her. Red forgets to eat unless the cook coaxes her with some morsel and ignores the concerned glances the servants give each other behind her back.  Not even her wolf senses can find a trace of the Queen. Wherever she has gone, its far beyond Red’s reach.

Regina is gone for three days and when she comes back she is pale and bowed and weariness has bruised the skin under her eyes but when Red leaps from the bed to hold her she smiles and there is no mask.

Red doesn’t ask. If her fingers tremble as she undoes the stays of Regina’s dress and pulls her gently into bed, neither woman comments.  Its only when they are curled together, Regina’s cheek resting against Red’s chest and Red’s arms holding her tightly that she sighs.

“I couldn’t do it,” Regina whispers. She doesn’t explain but soon after her body softens and her breathing steadies. Red can only lie awake in the dark and hope Regina is still with her tomorrow.

She is.

It will be three years before Red asks what she meant that night. Three years during which time Regina seals her borders against Snow White and repels two attacks but doesn’t attempt to kill the woman she once so desperately sought to destroy. Three years where that full crimson smile slowly - slowly like the last of winter’s ice melting - comes easier and quicker and the stone of the castle walls warms and brightens, shadows giving way to sun and firelight. Three years where the kingdom prospers and Red roams, known throughout the land as a wolf or in her red cloak.  Three years where the title “Evil” is gradually heard less and less, dying away like autumn’s leaves until the sound of hooves on the Queen’s road no longer sends children running for their parents in fear and the dark mutterings of old folk about witches and damnation receive little heeding.

Three years before Regina reveals that Rumplestiltskin offered her a way to enact revenge on Snow White once and for all. They are lounging before the fireplace when Red asks, the question drifting into her mind from nowhere in particular. She is sprawled with her head on Regina’s lap and gentle fingers in her hair and they are still and warm and comfortable. They are safe and something about the question feels right, as though it has been waiting to be voiced for some time now.

 For long moments Regina merely watches the flames and when she speaks, her voice is quiet, almost hesitant. “He offered me a curse. The darkest curse. It would forever trap Snow and all her kingdom in a land without magic and deny her a happy ending.”  Red merely shifts slightly to look up and raises one eyebrow. Regina smiles wearily, her fingers not straying from where they stroke through thick mahogany tresses. “In the end, the price was too high. The curse would have demanded the heart of the thing I love most.”

Red stills as recognition, as hope threatens, and Regina cups her chin and bends to kiss her brow. “I couldn’t do it.”

 

Fin

 

 


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought I was done with these two but then tumblr. Red is caught in a poacher's trap, Regina comes to her rescue. This has no particular time setting, but can probably be considered to take place in the three years before the very end of chapter 1. 
> 
> **Warnings** possible blood/injury and panic attack triggers.

Written in [response to this](http://racethewind10.tumblr.com/post/99976227591/annabellioncourt-theres-a-lovely-old-english)

 

* * *

 

 

Pain is different when she is wolf. It’s less…until it’s  _not_. She has strength and power but she still bleeds, and the wolf is cunning and smart, but still an animal with an animal’s instincts.

The trap is magic, specially made to trick her senses and when it closes, when it closes there is no more Red. No more wolf or girl only red, only bloodwhitehottearing _screaming_. Her howls of rage split the cold, still night, splintering the sleepy sounds of the forest and shaking the owls from their trees as she throws herself against the iron jaws. Instinct stronger than magiced steel grips her as she tries to escape, tries and tries and tries and fails until the anger bleeds away into the ground. Drip drip drip it soaks into the leaves and churned earth with her blood. She can’t think can’t see can’t smell she just _hurts_. 

" _Red_ , Red I’m here." 

There is a voice, and a presence, one she didn’t hear them approach and a swift surge of fightfleekill blooms in her chest, making her snarl and shift. She can’t see them, only scent them on the air above the stench of darkbloodearth that envelops her now. She draws them into her lungs and tastes humanmagicfire…home?

The urge to flee quiets, just a little.

She whimpers and the voice comes closer. “I”m here Red. I’m here, stay still.” 

Words, the sounds have names and she struggles to grasp them. They are important, she knows, but it hurts and she thrashes and it hurts more, making her snarl and snap, agony ripping into her trapping her mind as tight as the snare around her leg.

"Red stop! Please!" That voice, it calls to her, even breaking it calls to something below the mindless scream of instinct. Panting, whining trembling she stills and watches the woman come into view. Watches her reach out a shaking hand toward the trap. "They will pay for this," she hisses and the sounds don’t make sense but the anger…the anger is something the wolf can understand even now. 

And then the woman twists her hands, eyes glowing purple and the trap opens, setting off a new wave of agony as metal claws withdraw from torn flesh. Runrunrunrun is screaming in her mind but even as she throws her whole body away she is caught in another trap, this one magic and gentle but a trap all the same. The howl dies in her throat and she can only scream inside her own mind, suspended in midair as the woman approaches. In the bright moonlight she sees glittering trails of moisture on the human’s face but doesn’t understand. 

"Shh its alright Red, I promise. I’m going to heal you you’re safe, I  _swear_  it.” The sounds again, trembling and halting as they fall from the human’s lips and she doesn’t understand but then there is purple light falling from the human’s fingers, falling like the first snow over her leg, gentle and cold and the pain melts away. Finally  _finally_  the pain goes away. Bone and tendon and skin reknits until her leg is whole and clean, not even the stain of blood on her fur to give witness to what she’s endured. 

The magic holding her eases her grip and with freedom comes sense, comes memory, comes  _Red_. 

“ _Regina_ ,” she sobs, falling through the change and into her Queen’s arms, arms that hold her tighter than they ever have. She’s barely aware of the swirl of Regina’s magic around them, only that she can’t get close enough, can’t get warm enough, skin burning with cold and unable to stop shaking even when she feels the familiar embrace of their bed.  Her eyes are clamped shut so she doesn’t see Regina change but she smells the smokey tang of her magic and then her Queen is slipping under the covers and pulling the bedclothes up and around them, pulling Red into her arms and holding her fiercely.

"You’re safe, you’re safe Red I promise," Regina whispers over and over and over into her ear, stroking her hair and her spine until gradually Red begins to shake the night and the memories from her bones. Regina speaks until she’s hoarse and Red has stopped shaking but lies curled into her, nose pressed to the curve of Regina’s neck where she can hear the pulse beating under warm soft skin. 

"You smelled like home." It’s the first time she’s spoken whole words all night and Regina shifts, looking down at her, confusion in her beautiful dark eyes. "Even when I wasn’t…me, I didn’t know who you were or what you were saying but you smelled like…home." 

She isn’t afraid of these things anymore, these words and the emotion behind them. Their balance is too strong, but her breath still catches in her chest at the way Regina’s eyes soften, glistening with tears she won’t allow herself to shed now that danger is passed. Instead a trembling hand moves to cup Red’s cheek and Regina’s lips are soft on her brow, her touch speaking all the things she can’t bring her voice to say. 

Red merely smiles and snuggles closer, exhaustion weighting her limbs and stealing her toward sleep. 

"My Red," she hears as if from a distance. 

"Yes," she sighs, and sleeps. 


End file.
